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Friday, May 18, 2012


The best lessons on how to do stuff comes from play and experience. So.

Dad raised both me and my older brother with the basic skills. The first thing I ever learned to do was predict future children using a pencil, needle and thread.  Years later we graduated to the psychic card game; you know the one, where you guess shapes? Only we used aces. I always failed miserably at it while my brother was excellent. Never had the umph, I suppose. At least once Dad would project at me and I'd receive and get them right, but never could "go out" and hear and read. Was rather frustrating.

Then we kids did as kids in a magical environ will do: took to it on our own. Each of my siblings and myself are seven years apart. So when my brother was 16 we turned serious: tried to build a inter-dimensional portal using our energy alone, that sort of thing. It was my job to find folks at school who were possible "others" and bring them home. Then “Matt” "lead" the group, which also bothered me. I mean there I was doing all the grunt work, then it came time for him to do the fun stuff with energy work and I'd get to do a little. And then I had to go to bed or, in later years, I was purposefully excluded. Bothered the crap out of me.

The groups used to do things like pick on local energy entities and stuff. Thought we were demon hunting: thank you Hollywood. Group after group was formed, usually by me with “Matt” taking over. The last one with “Matt” was a real disaster. We'd brought in our cousins on that one, and the oldest was already spiteful by the time I was five. Apparently my older brother was doing some illegal things when I wasn't around.

Magical kids act like eaglets, too. The oldest will push the littlest out of that nest to die. In my case when I finally caught my stride and started to figure out what I could do, my brother took steps to stop it. He "sealed" me he said; claimed I was too powerful. Well, what this means in modern terms is he rewired me. Never could get past it. It's like... having your ethereal spine broken permanently. It was horrible too, like being wrapped in chains and stuck in a glass jar.  Sometimes I'm still there, but meh. That's another story for another day.

My little brother... never got training and went schizophrenic nuts. Part of that is also my brother's fault: he did a lot of bad things to my little brother. They're bad things my mother still denies. Part of it is my fault: I was a very violent and angry older sister. Too jealous for my own good. And the rest is simply because no one would help him when he could have been helped, and now it's too late.

So there I was, 15 and someone no one ever listened to. Mom fell off the porch and hurt her back? Go get help I said to my little brother. Got ignored. My little brother's gifts were the kind that, traditionally, would have gotten him apprenticed to a shaman. You gotta help him start practicing and focus I said to my father. Got ignored. There were bright lights and nightmares. Got ignored.

So when I noticed the phones were tapped I didn't say anything for a while. I'd pick up the phone and listen to how the wires were tapped; listened to two guys negotiate bringing something over, realizing they were being listened to, saying shit and hung up. One time they crossed and I accidentally got a neighbor on the phone: girl from up the street. Then there would be clicks and I guess they got their shit straight.

Then the black vehicle started parking at the edge of the yard to watch us. Now by then I'd already had a life of nightmares involving being chased by things, the feds, turning into a werewolf, whatever. (All separate stories.)  And there's this car watching us like in some FBI movie. And it would *only* come watch when it was just me at home.

One day I decided I was gonna get them so I barreled off the front porch and started to run for the car. It peeled away like crazy. After that it parked a house farther away or on the other side. But it still came around.

I told my parents and they didn't believe me.

Soon after I came home from school and went to the bus, which had become my older brother's bedroom. (The rest of us were in a slightly bigger trailer by then.) He wasn't there, so I asked my mother. She was all incredulous that I didn't know he'd been arrested a couple of days ago. (Well, duh. They also never tell me anything.)

Seems the spiteful cousin had turned in my brother. So for the next few years we had to deal with that stigma. It was not fun, being blamed for things you never did by an entire town. Maybe my brother did them, but the rest of us had no idea.

A couple of weeks into the trials my spiteful cousin wrote the newspaper a letter about how we were Satan worshipers.

That was also not fun.

By that point in time I had a book I'd written, because I'd felt it was what I was supposed to do. It covered a lot of past life material, a DNA family tree, how to do things, the works. My brother, too, had another persona. All stories for another day.

I burned that book in the back yard because my senses said it was wise.

And then I buried myself into my own head and went mundane for a while, which meant I stopped writing as much and read a lot of books.

There were a couple of times I "reawakened" but had to rebury for one reason or another. And then I started dating Mr. Wrong.

Mr. Wrong... was a demon, and I mean this literally. That’s what he fancied himself as, being a he was a member of the Otherkin the same as I. (The Otherkin consider themselves apart from humanity for one reason or another. The majority do this because they feel they are an elf or some other myth that matches how they feel inside. I was very devout to the subcommunity at the time, not knowing as much as I do now. These days I’d tell you point blank they’re probably all abductees or associated with that problem in some way. Their stories almost all match the UFO side – but because Otherkin use words like fairy and unicorn, people don’t take them seriously. When they should be on some level besides “these folks are practicing escapism.”)

Mr. Wrong didn't mean to,  but he's the one that woke up things fully. He was on the internet with me, and we were experimenting with seeing one another. During the course of the fun I decided to start looking at other things. I found myself getting smaller and smaller until I was whirling past protons and neutrons and finally got to the center. I was so small light couldn't filter things in color. I told Wrong what I was seeing.  He said he didn't believe me, but the next day he sent me photo shots of the first photographs taken at that level. He said they were from only a couple of weeks ago. They were exactly as I'd described. I'd simply gotten that tiny.

From there it just got to be a deliciously wicked game that I used to pick on the Council On High. (Lotsa stories there, explanation on them will hopefully come later.) And it was like I just knew all the tricks of the trade. I knew you could time travel already, touch things, manipulate, how many it would take to change the past, how to hack certain environments, you name it. I just knew as if I'd always known. And we did them all.

I helped Mr. Wrong, too. I got him a place to live with my credit. He found a job he never would let me know about - but I can tell you he wrote information gathering programs and worked in DC. He got his legs back and suddenly I was a nuisance, you know? I'd exercise, and he'd do things to stop me. I was just starting out on being an independent artist; he'd sit beside me and tell me to just give up and stop trying. But when he threw me away, I kept going.

Oh I had to heal as we all do - when I left him he had me so fucked up in the head I genuinely wasn't sure what sex I was anymore. Nobody I've ever spoken with has understood just how bad treatment that really was. The ones who knew him are always "but you are the one who raged, who ranted, he was always so quiet and perfect. He was a nice guy."

He was a fucking psychopath... and is the reason why I don't trust "professional" help. Nothing like going to a professional with the guy hoping she'll see how he's hurting you only for her to side with him and feed him horrible things to say about me. I have a temper, that made me evil.  My passionate nature ensures I will always be the bad guy.  Interestingly, that's how I remember my past lives as well. So.

So when I finally stood back up again I walked faster. Even past a nervous breakdown, being called the bad guy at least two more times in large dramatic affairs of doom and destruction, remembering my "eternal mate", and all sorts of sordid drama. It was like my spinal cord was repaired, sorta, and now that I had this stolen piece of myself back again I could only be held down for the time it took a person to heal emotionally. Then I'd bounce back up again. I never could do that before: before I'd go down and never get back up again because so much of me was already missing. I made other friends and taught them. And so forth and so on. Until today.

Funny thing about it all: I used to rely heavily on card reading. I had a pack that belonged to my grandmother. They were regular cards that she and I played games with for years. My best senses came from those cards. My mother went on one of her God trips and they simply disappeared. I know what happened to them - one of two things. My mother also jealously kept anything related to my grandmother away from me. Still does to this day. If it's mine and mom finds out it's attached to Gramma, she finds a way to get it from me and hide it.

After those cards disappeared I've tried reading with other cards but it never was the same. With Gramma's cards I could predict things to the minute. There was one time my South American boyfriend, Danny, had moved to Maryland. I just sat at the table for days reading over and over again, and they kept telling me over and over again he was coming to get me. When he came to the door with his mother (she was a sweetheart) I had a bag packed by the door ready to go. 

He came to the door like he was going to surprise me. You should have seen his face when I smiled that he was there and said "HI!" because I'd been expecting him. So he announced he had come to spirit me away... and I said, "I know. I'm all ready!" and picked up my bag. Hehehehe.

But when the remote viewing came back and the other skills that don't require a tool as much, the card reading died even more. It's like I traded one for the other.  Even so I can only do these things under certain conditions. I don't walk. I limp.

And another thing? My spelling has went all to hell.

Sometimes I wish I could talk about these things to my husband in depth. To be honest I don't think he completely believes me. There's been a time or two he has slipped up and made a comment that sounded like he was only tolerating his wife's weirdness because that's what you do. He saw a UFO once when he was in Afghanistan, and there have been times he's waken up tired with the bruises and wotnot. But when I bring something up - like the specter I saw in the house the other night - he just listens and has to fight to find a sentence to respond with. I can't turn to him with too much. He has no desire to follow.